Search

I've been reading and watching more than blogging. That's a good thing. I think. No, it's not. There are too many movies I've seen, and seen in the last few years, that I haven't written about (like Cry of the Hunted, Wicked Woman and The Road to Glory, to name a few). I've been watching so many movies and talking about them (to friends) but not writing about them. Nevertheless, before January comes to a close, I will say my number one movie was The Master and I will post a top ten... sometime this year. Apologies. Now, back to reading. And watching. And more writing to come. The year is finally starting.

"As
far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster." So recalls
Ray Liotta's Henry Hill in one of the greatest movies about gangsters, Martin
Scorsese's Goodfellas. There's something more to that line. For Hill, it's real
life, but for those of us watching, it's a kind of fantasy we find strangely relatable (the American dream and all), or alien (if we've never been
involved in organized crime) and packed with a lot of crooked romance, even as Hill's downfall is not so romantic. Nevertheless, the charismatic outlaw has been a major subject
of cinema ever since movies were invented, and especially since they started to
talk. A character we're drawn to even if we're often repelled by such a
character's activity.

They intrigue and sometimes, perhaps scarily so, inspire
us. With that in mind, I’m looking at 10 terrific performances by actors (and
one actress) who played real-life gangsters on-screen. And, again, these are real life
gangsters, not the greatest gangster movies (that list would go on forever and include Scarface, The Roaring Twenties, The Public Enemy and more...), but with exception to Sam "Ace" Rothstein from Casino (so please excuse omissions like The Godfather and the brilliant
Scarface: The Shame of a Nation). Be them Mafia-oriented, bank robbers or drug lords, these stars came in
with a bang and, more than likely, went out with one, too.

Charles Bronson as Machine Gun Kelly in Machine Gun
Kelly (1958)

Directed by Roger Corman, this low-budget look at
the criminal misadventures of George "Machine Gun" Kelly is
surprisingly effective. And there's a good reason: A notable and
unforgettable mug is playing his first leading role, the young Charles Bronson.
Like Bonnie and Clyde, a considerably more famous and well-regarded
movie (though Machine Gun Kelly received nice praise as well),
Bronson's Kelly teams up with a woman, Flo Becker (Susan Cabot), who is a lot
bossier than Bonnie Parker.

As usual with these pictures (and real-life
characters) things go haywire: Kelly becomes public enemy No. 1, he pulls
an ill-fated robbery, Morey Amsterdam (his character, rather) loses an arm, and
Kelly holds the daughter of a wealthy businessman for ransom (according to this
movie, overbearing Flo made him do it). And then there's some double-crossing
and ... I won't say anymore. It's a punchy, nervy movie, and Bronson is
something to behold, as usual. More than the real life Kelly himself.

Paolo Seganti as
Johnny Stompanato in L.A. Confidential (1997)

He's got a small part in L.A.
Confidential, but it's such a memorable moment that it sits at the heart
of James Ellroy's corrupt movie star/mobster/cop connection of 1950s Los
Angeles. The right-hand man to Mickey Cohen and starlet seducer of
impressive proportions (Lana Turner? Good catch for one of Cohen's goons), the
moment involves straight-arrow cops Ed Exley (Guy Pearce) and flashy Jack Vincennes (Kevin Spacey) approaching Lana Turner and her date, Johnny Stompanato (Paolo
Seganti), at the Formosa.

Exley accuses Turner of being a Turner look-alike
(alluding to a prostitution ring in which women were made to look like movie
stars), but after Vincennes says, "She is Lana Turner," the real Lana
rightfully throws her drink in his face. Good thing it didn't lead to more. The
real-life Stompanato was not exactly a nice guy. Turner's own daughter
stabbed him to death after an exceptionally distressing fight broke out between
the mobster and her mother.

But mother and daughter turned out OK. Lana made the greatest film of her career, Douglas Sirk's Imitation of Life and Cheryl Crane eventually wrote the riveting Detour about growing up with Lana. Now, where's their movie?

Robert De Niro as Al Capone in The Untouchables (1987)

Brian De Palma's picture features one of the most
powerful, volatile performances of Robert De Niro as the infamous
Al Capone. Though Paul Muni played an inspired, brilliant version of Capone in
Howard Hawks' masterpiece Scarface: The Shame of a Nation (which De
Palma remade with his legendary, endlessly quoted Scarface starring Al Pacino),
De Niro really dug his fingernails into this one -- and scratched -- hard. Or,
rather, pummeled a poor man with a baseball bat.

It's based on the real-life
agents Eliot Ness (Kevin Costner) and Jim Malone (Sean Connery) and
follows them as they pursue gang leader Capone during the Prohibition era.
The fascinating picture, with its gorgeous set pieces, smashing shootouts
and superb acting, was highly praised, though some thought De Niro was
over-the-top. Come on, he's playing Al Capone! He was right ... though no one can touch Paul Muni. I'm sure both De Niro and Capone would agree.

Ray Liotta as
Henry Hill in Goodfellas (1990)

Martin Scorsese's Goodfellas remains one of the director's most innovative, inspired, oft-imitated and
brilliantly crafted movies with one hell of a cast -- and Ray Liotta in the
performance of his life. Liotta's Henry Hill is powerful, scary, funny, sad,
sexy, ridiculous, understandable and inimitable. Hill's an interesting guy:
He's not as violent as his cronies (Robert De Niro and Joe Pesci), and he's
even the quiet one (as Pesci's mother, played by Scorsese's own mother, points
out), but he's so deeply entrenched in the life and lifestyle that he
starts losing control, brilliantly shown in the picture's third act.

Though the picture's
dirty deeds end up quite sad for many in the film (you don't want to mess with
Paulie), it's Hill's marriage with Karen, played by a spectacular Lorraine
Bracco, that feels just as heated and, finally, heartbreaking -- both saved and
doomed. They will have to enter the witness protection program. It's terrible
for Hill as he says by the end, "I'm an average nobody ... get to
live the rest of my life like a schnook." The real Henry Hill had a more colorful fate -- more arrests, guest spots on Howard Stern and even opening a restaurant in West Haven, Connecticut called, yes, Wiseguys. He passed away last year.

Warren Beatty as
Bugsy Siegel in Bugsy (1991)

Bugsy. That good-looking, charming, dapper and violent (that's an
understatement) gangster who built our dreamland/crazy town called Las Vegas.
The nattily dressed Siegel transformed a patch of Nevada land into what was
once a mobbed-up city of casinos (now a lot of theme parks, but I'm sure
those gangsters are still floating around). It paid off for a while, but not
so well in the end for Bugsy. So who better to play the good-looking so-and-so
than Warren Beatty, a walking icon of the American dream? And with Barry Levinson at the helm?

The movie, though very romantic, works:
The acting is superb, the direction is gorgeous -- Levinson crafts something historically and culturally significant in telling the glamour and horror
of Siegel's dream. The movie also features Beatty's future wife, Annette Bening, as Bugsy's true love Virginia Hill whom he called Flamingo, naming the famed casino after her. And it's still standing. My God, if those
walls could talk. Maybe it'd be best to not listen. Nah... of course we'd want to listen.

Faye Dunaway and Warren Beatty as
Bonnie and Clyde in Bonnie and Clyde (1967)

Arthur Penn and Warren Beatty shocked the hell out of '60s
cinema with Bonnie and Clyde. This ingenious, modern and violent picture , though a period piece, was relevant to the times and still is. The 1967 picture, though heavily mythical in its beautiful look at
a pair of hoodlums even John Dillinger had little respect for, was based (obviously) on the
romanticized, real-life outlaw duo, a couple of in-love criminals (though
sexually frustrated -- guns come euphemistically in handy here) who proclaim,
"We rob banks." Indeed they do -- and they look good doing it in the absolutely gorgeous visages of
Warren Beatty (Clyde) and a ravishing, fashion inspiring Faye Dunaway (Bonnie).

Though the real duo wasn't as glamorous (they slept in their cars a lot) they're the epitome of romantic mad love, living by their own moral code. Never mind how scummy their life could really be. Or that Clyde may have liked men (though he clearly cared deeply for Bonnie). There's been talks of a re-make, and this is a story that could be told again, but could it top Penn's version? I don't think so. So far, only Serge Gainsbourg and Brigitte
Bardot did Bonnie and Clyde proud.

Denzel Washington as Frank Lucas in American Gangster (2007)

Ridley Scott directed this epic, entertaining and splendidly
acted (especially by Denzel Washington in the lead role) account of drug lord
Frank Lucas, a notorious and major importer of heroin in 1960s and 1970s
Manhattan. Born in North Carolina, Lucas moved up the ranks in the Harlem crime
world after mentorshipby gangster Bumpy Johnson (which some real-life
accounts having taken into question). After Bumpy dies, Lucas become the fur coat-wearing and
seriously smart (though, obviously, morally dubious) drug king who nabbed his
product directly from the source, Thailand. Lucas managed to get soldiers
returning from the Vietnam War to smuggle the heroin via military planes.

It was all very successful, especially with his lower prices for the dope,
until he was busted (one of the reasons Washington reportedly agreed to take on
this role was the arc of the complicated character. Washington even met
the still-alive Lucas for research). Lucas is appealing, but Washington (and Scott working with a
smart script by Steven Zaillian) makes you think twice about glorifying Lucas. Lucas has been out of the slammer since 1991 and leads his life now in a wheelchair.

Robert De Niro as Sam "Ace" Rothstein (real life Frank Rosenthal) in Casino (1995)

As Sam "Ace" Rothstein, Robert De Niro gives one of his most poignant
performances in Martin Scorsese's ultra-violent, epic and underrated Casino, a movie that feels richer, more nuanced more masterful
each time you watch it. That, and it features Don Rickles.
My God, what's not to love? De Niro, based on real-life casino
runner Frank Rosenthal, says this: "Running a casino is like robbing
a bank with no cops around. For guys like me, Las Vegas washes away your sins.
It's like a morality car wash." Indeed. Gangsters, love, hate,
gambling and some terribly heartbreaking and, in the end, dysfunctional
interpersonal relationships worm their way into this slot machine of life. De
Niro is one of the "bad" guys, but you feel for him here as the
former bookmaker who once ran a tightly wound casino for the mob. And then he
makes some mistakes. Chiefly, he gets his friend and wife involved.

That's not
always a bad idea. Everything appears to be going OK until Joe Pesci, his
hair-trigger-tempered pal (maybe psychotic is a better word) rambles into the
dusty town. And then, in a spectacular love-at-first-sight moment, De Niro
falls hard for and marries gorgeous hustler Sharon Stone, a woman who can't
shake her pimp (a great James Woods).

Well, that's going to cause
problems. And it literally blows up in poor Frank's face. Scorsese managed
to make Casino even sadder by showing that even this, this dirty
world, exhibited Vegas' last gasp of glamour and decadence. Casino spirals so out of control and goes to such dark places (Pesci's death is
especially brutal), it's almost bizarre to see the end shot of all those
families now traveling to that vice-filled city and feeling bittersweet about
it. Ah, yes, the good old dirty days

Al Pacino as
Benjamin "Lefty" Ruggiero in Donnie Brasco (1997)

In Mike Newell's Donnie
Brasco, actors Johnny Depp and Al Pacino could qualify as guys
playing real-life gangsters, chiefly because Depp's character -- real name
Joseph Pistone, aka Donnie Brasco -- the FBI agent who goes undercover to
investigate the Bonanno crime family, really DOES become Donnie
Brasco. He's so accepted in the mob family on which he's spying that he's
left torn and confused. Al Pacino plays Benjamin "Lefty"
Ruggiero, a hit man who's seen better days and is now a
broken-down older soul. Some might say pathetic.

Why you feel sorry for this guy is the power (or
manipulation) of director Newell and the poignant performance by Pacino, who
you, against your own better judgment, begin rooting for. You like him, you
want him to make some more money and you're touched by his friendship with
Brasco. But that's the power of the movie: Depp makes us all feel a little bit
like Donnie Brasco.

Lawrence Tierney, Warren Oates and Johnny Depp as John Dillinger in Dillinger (1945), Dillinger (1973) and Public Enemies (2009)

Ol' Jackrabbit himself, John Dillinger, the infamous
Depression-era bank robber/Robin Hood, whose personal story is as interesting
as his crimes.

That great lug and real-life tough guy Lawrence Tierney seems
the perfect Dillinger, and he was a terrific one, but the role (so far) goes to
Warren Oates in John Milius' version of one of the most famous (and beloved)
gangsters in history.

Oates looks a lot like Dillinger, which is important, and
he possessed toughness and charm -- you understand his violent side. And, you know, it's Warren fucking Oates. It's hard for that man to do wrong, especially as John Dillinger. He's the best. Michael Mann's 2009
version, about which I was initially excited for, shot the period piece on digital,
and I'm still mixed as to how that worked.

Dillinger, the coolest of the
gangsters, the intelligent, good-looking, sharp-suited ladies' man who was
taken down in Chicago after the "lady in red" narced him out (and
after a movie!) may have needed the cracks and shadows and depth of good
old-fashioned celluloid. Still, Johnny Depp (as Dillinger) pulled off a
romantic, impressive performance and worked nicely as the more soulful counterpoint
to Christian Bale's intrepid FBI agent Melvin Purvis (the man who watched
Dillinger die).

But again, Warren Oates is the top dog in the Dillinger Department. And it's tough to play Dillinger. As Woody Allen said, John
Dillinger was "a genius ... in his chosen profession."

Since I have taken most of January off I'm dipping into my archives and revisiting... Phantom Lady.

There's a dangerous, sickly titillating sexuality to film noir that's not seen enough on screen these days. That thrill, that edge, that mixture of sadism and masochism, that passion, that cold-heartedness, that control and abandon. I'll speak mostly of the genre's women: Peggy Cummins coolly shooting between her legs in Gun Crazy. Decoy’s Jean Gillie laughing with maniac, orgasmic glee after she’s offed her duped boyfriend who’s just dug up the only thing that turns her on -- money.

Cloris Leachman running barefoot down a two-lane blacktop, panting and hyper-venting over Nat King Cole’s silky opening song in Kiss Me Deadly. Rita Hayworth's Gilda, who uses her considerable sexuality for her only clutch of power and is then, made miserable by it. Richard Egan getting an eyeful of beautiful six foot Wicked Woman Beverly Michaels -- a femme fatale who actually falls in love and is, in the end, alone to continue her manipulations in the next dump the bus drops her off at. Born to Kill's Lawrence Tierney tossing and turning over Claire Trevor -- wanting to rape, murder, kiss, kill -- and she wanting it too. And, dear lord, Lana and that lipstick in The Postman Always Rings Twice. The look John Garfield gives Lana when that tube of red rolls across the floor is worth a hundred contemporary sex scenes.

Noir reveals complicated sexuality that's not just dishy dames in sexy high heels or snappy men in fedoras (I don't have to say this to readers who actually watch noir). It's screwy sexy, frequently populated by losers (frequently attractive losers) made all the more erotic because even as sex, often toxic sex, motivates many of its character’s actions, the genre’s aim isn’t merely to steam your glasses. It can serve (directly or indirectly) as allegory for many of the power struggles we may endure in the tumult of relationships. If they're easy, they're usually boring. If they're hard, they're usually worth questioning. If they're hot and hard, they're nearly impossible to put down. If they're causing you to saunter into situations that sicken you, you're in mad love. Or a masochist. Usually both.

Which led me to a movie I hadn’t seen in years -- Robert Siodmack’s PhantomLady -- a picture that features a performance by Ella Raines that’s so sizzling, so, at times, sick and yet so alluringly poignant, you’re a little overwhelmed by it.

Adapted from the Cornell Woolrich novel, Phantom Lady was Siodmak’s first American screen success and he would later craft some sublime noir including Criss Cross, Cry of the City, The Dark Mirror, The File on Thelma Jordan and The Killers (among others). I’ll run down the story: Ella Raines (her character’s nicknamed “Kansas” -- which seems like a Wizard of Oz reference given the subterranean world she will find herself in) works as Alan Curtis’s secretary. When he’s framed for the murder of his wife, she sets out to help him because she doesn’t believe he did it.

She's also besotted with him (lucky man). Sexing up her image as cub private dick, she’s off to find this “Phantom Lady” with the help of Curtis’s friend (Franchot Tone) and an off duty police detective (Thomas Gomez, so wonderful in Force of Evil). OK, so that's the story, but what I really want to discuss is Raines's interaction with the hep cat, hopped up jazz drummer, played by noir staple, the great sap/sleaze Elisha Cook, Jr.

I am absolutely gob-smack over their famed moments together. Ella’s seduction of Elisha -- a freaky sexy, conflicted, crazily drugged sequence (you can practically smell the booze, marijuana, heroin and dexies permeating the joint) in which Raines plays hot-to-trot, seems to be eating up her vampy method of getting to the straight dirt and yet, is repulsed by both Cook (that kiss!) and herself for having to go this far.

Showcasing Siodmak’s (and cinematographer Woody Bredell’s) evocative, angled compositions (used gorgeously throughout the movie), the style brilliantly underscores the mounting hysteria and varied state of Raines’s psychology. This is an extreme example, but what Raines reveals is something many women feel when finding themselves in the belly of the sleazy beast. It's a little fun and a little horrifying and you're definitely not in Kansas anymore.